


The Stowaway

by sleepy_waffle



Category: The Monkees (Band), The Monkees (TV)
Genre: and no there isnt a davy jones locker joke, not a ship just guys being dudes, the only ship is the one that they sail on, theyre pirates babey!, well sailors i guess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:07:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28574991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepy_waffle/pseuds/sleepy_waffle
Summary: Michael stowaways on a ship longing to leave Los Angeles for good. He is soon found by none other than Cabin Boy Micky (or Curly as the shipmates call him). Michael soon discovers sea life isn't quite for him and Micky is unaware of the danger that lies with him simply walking around alive.





	1. Chapter 1

“Lady Janelle getting underway!” A voice shouted.

Michael leaned back in the shadowed corner behind the lifeboats. He fiddled with his watch, which was not stolen, just borrowed for an extended amount of time unbeknownst to the owner, and pressed his blue wool hat further on his head; this of course really wasn’t stolen, it was a gift. He wanted to close his eyes and take in the salty sea air, the gulls screeching above his head, the lapping of the waves, but he had to remain hidden until the ship was too far to send him swimming back to shore.

Groups of men swore, well, like a bunch of sailors whenever they passed. The clatter of shoes on the wooden deck made Michael jumpy and exposed. What if his hiding spot wasn’t good enough? What if he was found? What if-?

He took a deep breath. Those were irrational thoughts. Nobody would come near the lifeboats unless there was a dire emergency, then he would be in trouble.

“Get out of my sight and clean those boats Curly!” A grumpy man shouted.

“But sir, they’re never going to be used unless there’s a dire emergency.”

Michael peeked out ever so slightly from his hiding spot. A short, gruesome looking man with a tangled beard was throwing his fist in the air at a boy, around his age, not quite an adult, but definitely not a teenager. The first thing that stood out to him was the boy’s curly hair and tattered clothes. It didn’t look like he was winning his argument with Captain Grouchy-Face anytime soon.

The Captain thrust a bucket and a rag at the boy.

“NOW!”

There was disappointment in his voice. “Yes, sir.”

Back into the corner again, Michael slid to the floor, hoping he wouldn’t be noticed. Why did he have to take this ship? There were plenty in the port but he had to sneak on the one that would throw him overboard. Getting away from Los Angeles was a dream that should have died before he stepped on ship and was going to die himself.

A splash of water hit Michael in the face. Instinctually, he made a noise of discomfort.

“Hello?” The curly head wondered aloud.

The boy searched around the lifeboats and nearly tripped upon him.

“Oooh weee. Man, you’re not supposed to be here.” The boy grinned a sunshine smile.

Michael didn’t say a word. He was too busy thinking of how well he could swim.

“I won’t tell anyone. You don’t look the dangerous type anyways. At least I hope you’re not dangerous. Captain says that stowaways are ruthless and carry swords and guns and all sorts of weapons to sabotage the ship. You don’t have a gun do you?” Michael shook his head in puzzlement. The boy sat down in front of him and extended his soapy, wet hand. “I’m Micky.”

Michael watched the soap drip off of the boy’s hand. Micky followed his gaze and promptly wiped his hands on his pants, which were also slightly soapy and wet.

They shook hands.

“Michael,” he introduced himself.

“Can I call you Mike? I’d call you Micky but that’s my name. Well, it’s also Michael, but that’s too formal for me.”

He nodded.

“Sweet. We better get you to a better hiding spot. I know all the hiding spots on this ship. There’s the one in the galley, and the one just round the corner from the captain’s quarters, though that one’s a bit risky, but risky is fun sometimes, and then there’s the one-”

Micky was interrupted by a pair of boots walking past the lifeboats. “Who you talking to, Curly?”

Micky jumped up and grabbed the soapy rag. “Just an imaginary friend. You know me, Ratrunner. Always need someone to keep me company, real or not.” He splashed grimy water on the boats, inevitably getting Michael wet. Ratrunner, a man named not for making rats run but vice versa, stayed and chatted with Micky, or Curly as he was known as on the ship.

Michael remained hidden behind the lifeboats watching the two talking. His legs were starting to ache from being curled up in the same position. But this boy Micky was intriguing. He would have to remember to thank him when they got to shore. To shore! He didn’t even know where this ship was going. All he did was climb on in hopes that it would leave soon. With his luck, they would end up in Japan! Or Canada! Or Mexico!

He smiled at the thought of Mexico. Ending up there wouldn’t be so bad. He knew enough Spanish to get by. 

Ratunner ran off at the barking of his name to another part of the ship leaving Micky and Michael alone again.

“Alrighty Mike. I think we’re in the clear.” Micky helped Michael untangle himself from the corner. “Follow me and keep quiet.” He paused. “On second thought, stay quiet. You don’t talk much do you?”

Michael shook his head.

Micky smiled. “That’s alright. Captain prolly wishes I were you. He says I blab my mouth so much even a siren couldn’t lure me to sea. I would talk over her enticing song. Anyways, it’s cool that you’re quiet. You oughta teach me some time. Follow me!”

Micky pushed the bucket of soapy water, which had now turned green, out of the way and did an amusing display of spy impressions. Around each stack of boats, he would press his back against them and peek around, only to snap his head back and give a dramatic "sush" to Michael, finger over the lips included.

Michael followed Micky to a dark, cold room below deck. A single cot was squeezed in with a bucket full of shells and colorful rocks next to it. Under the cot was a small leather suitcase, raggedy clothes left in a pile inside it. The room was only as big as a closet, because it was a closet. Smelled like one too.

"It's not much, but this is home. For this last trip at least. Once we dock at the Bay, I'll be gone. Goodbye stinky sea life! I heard there were lots of theaters there. I'll be an actor on the stage or on tv. Or in the movies! Can you imagine that? Me in a movie? Or if that doesn't work out a singer! Or a circus performer! Or-"

"An auctioneer?" Michael said.

Micky's face grew red. "Sorry, Mike."

"No, no. It's alright."

Michael couldn't help but to be drawn to the bucket of shells. He had never seen so many different colors and shapes before. They were beautiful. Much different than those he had found on the crowded beaches. It was rare that he would find a complete shell and not just fragments.

Micky noticed his interest. "You like the bucket?"

He nodded.

"Each shell and stone has a story to go along with it." Micky sat on one end of his cot and patted next to him. Michael took the invitation and sat down. There was barely enough space for the two of them in the tiny room.

Micky sifted through the bucket. There was an endless rainbow of stones, pebbles, sand, and shells. Michael watched him, curious. Each one had a story? How did he remember them all?

"Now you're probably thinking how I remember them all right?"

Micky pulled out a bright red shell. It was spikey with little dots on it.

"This is the first shell I ever found on this ship. I was six. First time I was able to explore the beaches without anyone watching me. It was half buried near some cliffs. I remember I got in big trouble that day for being all sandy and dirty. I wasn't able to take a bath for a week 'cause Captain didn't want me wasting drinking water."

He handed the shell to Michael.

"Don't worry, Mike. You won't break it."

Michael turned the shell over in his hands. His thumbs traced the spikes. 

"So you've been here a while." He finally said.

"Yeah. I guess I have."

"Why leave now? Bucket too full?" Michael joked.

"You could say that. Mainly because I'm tired of being a cabin boy." Micky stood up and hunched over, a pretend cane wobbling under his hand. "DO THIS CURLY. DO THAT CURLY." He barked in a groveling voice.

Michael smiled. Just a little bit.

Micky slumped back down on the cot. "It's tiring, ya know? One can only have so many imaginary friends to talk to and rely on." He faced Michael. "But now I've got you. Right, Mike?"

Michael nodded.

"And once I get to San Francisco-. Hey! You could be an actor, too. We could be a comedy duo!"

"'Fraid I'm not very funny." Michael replied.

"That doesn't matter. I'm sure you are. And we'll find something that'll work. Like-"

Micky went rambling on about San Francisco. Michael closed his eyes. So that's where the ship was headed. San Francisco. He had only seen it in postcards and stamps. Once on a billboard. But to see the real Golden Gate Bridge in person would be incredible!

Without warning, the floor under his feet began to sway. His eyes shot open, breaking the daydream. He quickly handed the shell back to Micky and held onto the edge of the cot.

"And then- Mike?"

Michael was turning green. He had never been on a small rowboat, much less a large sailing ship. He shut his eyes, but his stomach wouldn't settle. Everything was swaying around him.

Micky put the shell back. "Uh oh. Seasickness."

He pulled Michael up to his feet. "Up ya go. C'mon some fresh air will help."

Micky slipped Michael's bright blue hat off and replaced it with a shabby brown sea cap of his own. Stowing the wool hat under his cot, he then helped the stumbling boy up the ladder to the lower deck.


	2. Chapter 2

"Get yer rods men! This one's brought us some extra chow!"

Michael was leaned over the railing. What was left of his lunch was now dinner for the fish.

Fishing lines cast down on either side of him. The thought of the crew eating his leftovers made him hurl more.

Micky kept guard. He didn't want Mike to have to swim, especially on a now empty stomach.

"What's this fuckery about?!" The Captain stood directly behind Micky. 

Micky froze.

The crew discreetly reeled in their lines and faced the Captain, hiding the fishing poles behind their backs.

Only Micky and Michael were still facing the opposite direction.

The Captain took a heavy step towards them. "CURLY!"

Micky turned around, a cheeky smile on his face. "Yes, sir?"

"Who's this?" The Captain pointed a wrinkled bony finger towards Michael, who was down over the railing again.

"Um. A uh. New crew mate, sir." Micky motioned at Michael's new tattered hat.

"I didn't hire no new mates, Curly." He reached up and pulled Micky down to his level by the collar. Micky's smile ran away. "Is you lying to me? You know what happens to liars, Curly."

"They uh walk, sir."

The Captain laughed. If it could be called a laugh. It was more a dusty, creaky cough.

"We don't want you walking, do we?"

"No."

The Captain pulled harder on Micky's collar. "No, what?" he hissed.

"S-sir." Micky cleared his throat. "No, sir."

"That's better." He released his grip on Micky and turned his attention to Michael.

"Sea got the better of you son?"

Michael finally lost some of his nausea, though the dizziness remained. He turned around. The Captain was scarier up close.

Michael nodded. "Yes, sir." He choked on his words.

"You better not be no stowaway. Do you know what happens to stowaways?"

"They uh, walk. Sir. Take a little swim with the pretty mermaids. Uh, sir." He gave an innocent toothy smile.

The Captain slapped Michael hard across the face. "Don't give me no funny business Crooktooth. On this ship, you give me straight answers, you hear?"

Michael turned away from the Captain, clutching the side of his face. "Yes, sir," he whispered.

"WHAT BOY?!"

"Yes, sir," he said louder.

"Good. Don't think you're getting payment either. I don't know how you ended up here, but you're an extra hand now. Get to work Crooktooth!"

The Captain walked back to his quarters. "THAT GOES FOR YOU ALL!"

The crew on deck scattered like corn kernels dropped on a tile floor.

Micky grabbed Michael by the shoulders. "Mike! You okay?"

"Yeah. Fine." Michael squirmed out of Micky's grasp. He rubbed the side of his face. "Been hit harder."

"Man, I'm sorry. I should have kept better watch. I shoulda-"

"Hey, hey, hey. Don't get all wound up, it's alright."

"But-"

"'Sides, it's my fault for hopping on a ship and not knowing if I would be seasick."

Micky grinned at that statement.

"What?" Michael knew by now his grin usually meant trouble.

"You've never been on a ship?"

Michael shook his head.

"Like ever?"

He shook his head again.

"OH BOY! Have I got a million things to tell you about, Mike!"

Micky started to pretend to count on his fingers.

"Which stars help guide the ship! How to climb to the Crow's Nest! Though, I'm not allowed up there, but sometimes I bribe Dirty Daniel with my lunch to let me go up."

"Dirty? Daniel?" Michael made a face.

Micky paused. "Yeah, Dirty Daniel." The realization hit him. "Oh! No no no no. Not like that. He once tripped carrying a bucket of, well, not dirt but definitely brown, and got it all over him."

Micky leaned on the railing and watched the ocean softly churn under the boat. He squinted out towards the mainland, which was now a tiny speck on the horizon. He closed his eyes and took a long deep breath of sea air, grinning as he inhaled. The cool wind swirled past his face and made his tattered clothes softly snap like a flag on a pole. Much to Michael's surprise, Micky climbed over the railing and held on tight with his feet, his arms stretched out wide.

"Woah! Hold on there!" Michael warned. He didn't know what to do but watch.

Micky laughed. "What'dya think I'm doing? Gives me a sense of adventure."

He stayed there a few moments more. He ran his fingers through his mop of hair and rested his hands on top of his head. If he weren't on the side of the ship, he could have been mistaken for the maiden on the bow. He flopped his arms to his side and hopped back over, giving Michael a wash of relief.

Micky resumed leaning on the rail and staring at the open ocean. He looked lost yet simultaneously at home.

After a minute, he spoke. "There's so many secrets and tales of the sea. Speaking of tails, with that mermaid comment you'd fit right in. See you  _ are _ funny. Not your fault Captain can't appreciate humor."

"Even if he did, I think he would choke on his own laughter." Michael said with a straight face.

Micky burst out laughing. "Choke on his own laugh- man you're hilarious!"

Michael smiled. "Thanks."

“Islands port bow!” Dirty Daniel shouted from the Crow’s nest.

Michael turned and saw nothing but a blueish gray ocean. Maybe the islands were in the distance. He squinted and searched the horizon. Nothing.

Micky tapped him on the shoulder. “This side’s port, Mike.”

Michael spun around. A trio of dots grew bigger each time he blinked. He overheard a man swear about the Channels. He was really seeing the Channel Islands! Being on the ship for a few hours was worth the views. He wondered how long it would take to reach San Francisco.

“Curly! Standby headsail!” a gruff voice shouted.

“On it!” then to Michael, “Going by the islands is a bit rough, hold on.” With that he ran off to help with the rest of the crew.

Michael watched as Micky and a few other men pulled on ropes and tied them down with complex knots. He looked much older, moving in a rhythm with the crew. He wasn’t the bouncy cabin boy that could be excited about anything or everything; now, he had a small group of men following his orders. Minimal orders. But still very captain-like. A wave crashed against the port side of the ship, almost framing him in a painting.

The trance was broken when Micky slipped on a wet patch from the wave. He smashed his face into the ground, but jumped back up in time to avoid a rope wrapping around his ankle. Michael silently laughed. No wonder Micky’s features were squished and flat, it must be from being so clumsy.

The unwelcome feeling rose again as the ship pushed on through the sea. Michael reached out to hold the railing and found his hand had beat his brain. Nothing was left to come up, so he stood trying to focus on the islands. Stood was an understatement. His legs were wobbling and struggling to keep him upright, and the ship moving didn’t help one bit.

He reached up to pull his hat down over his ears. His hat! The nausea was quickly replaced with fear. He couldn’t lose that hat. It was the only thing left that he truly owned. (The watch didn’t count).

The hat in his hand was a brown flat cap, the fabric cracked and bleached from the ocean waters. Micky must have used this as a disguise for him. He turned the hat over. A small tag that had the company name was faded with  _ Dolenz _ written in scratchy marker over it.

He had heard that name before.


	3. Chapter 3

The ship had finally passed the Channel Islands. Micky was busy running nonsense errands for the Captain, so Ratrunner took Michael under his wing. Or tail.

“Now you see,” Ratrunner explained, “serving food don’t matter for the other fellas.” He handed a dull metal plate to the hand near the stove. The hand scooped a mushy goop onto it and the plate was passed to a hungry sailor in waiting.

The galley was not a gloomy place, despite what stories had been told about it. The chef was busy frying fresh fish, thanks to Michael’s bout of sickness. The mates that caught some would feast tonight.

“Captain plate,” the chef called out.

Ratrunner stood on his tippy toes and grabbed a fancy ceramic plate from a high cupboard. He held it out and let the chef plop a fried fish along with a little greens onto it..

“This goes to the Captain.” He handed the plate to Michael. “Don’t drop it.”

Michael opened his mouth to object.

“I’ve got to stay here, Crooktooth. Besides, maybe the Captain won’t hit you so hard next time if you bring him good food.”

Michael’s face was still a little red from earlier. “So you saw that, huh?”

“Everyone saw it. Not bad with the mermaid comment, though.” Ratrunner smiled. He had a kind, yet weathered face, and greasy dark brown hair tied up in a bun. Michael wondered how he managed to go so long without cutting it. He couldn’t have been more than 5’4 at the most. No. Michael made a note of the boots. More like 5’3.

Ratrunner nudged him on the shoulder. “I’d go before the food gets cold.”

Michael nodded and made his way to the Captain’s quarters. How odd that a Brit ended up on an American ship, and on the west coast no less. He shook his head, brushing the thought away. What still bugged him was the Dolenz guy. Curly. Micky. Where had he seen that name?

Michael knocked cautiously on the Captain’s door.

It creaked open.

He swallowed hard. “Your dinner, sir.”

The Captain grunted and pointed to an empty spot on a crowded desk.

Michael followed the Captain’s finger and carefully placed the plate of steaming fish on the desk. His hands shook from a variety of feelings: hunger, tiredness, fear. Fear was the leader in emotions at the moment. He glanced at the Captain. He was looking over a letter, many pages long.

Another grunt came from the Captain. This was Michael’s cue to leave. He edged back as silently as he could and shut the door behind him.

Then he ran.

He had seen things no man should have to see. He wanted to wash his eyes with soap and water. Even the bucket and rag Micky had when they first met would suffice. No wonder Ratrunner didn’t want to deliver the food. The Brit was probably too scared to go. Michael couldn’t blame him.

He bumped into Micky, knocking both of them to the ground.

“He has-. The Captain-.” Michael gasped for his breath.

Micky stood up and brushed his pants off. “Ahh. Visit to the Captain’s quarters?” He pulled Michael up, who clung to his arms.

“How? Why? I-” Michael had a tight grip on Micky’s sleeves.

“It’s disturbing. I know. You don’t exactly get used to it completely. I still get chills delivering food and such to him. Man’s a freak.”

“So this is...normal?”

Micky sighed. “Yep. I’m just glad I’m not on his wall.”

Michael released his grip. He rubbed his sweaty palms on his jeans. He was going to have nightmares tonight. Another thought dawned on him: he was going to have to spend the night on this ship.

He cleared his throat. “Say, um. I don’t want to be a bother but-”

“A bother? Man, you’ve been a bother since I found you.” Micky laughed. He watched Michael’s face fall and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, joking,” he said softly.

“Course. I knew that.” Michael shrugged Micky’s hand off.

Micky ignored the obvious rejection, even if it was small. “So what’s on your mind? A lot I’m sure. What a question. You definitely have some great thoughts even if I don’t know what they are. Not that I would want to know. Well, maybe some. That’s weird. Sorry. What was it you wanted to ask, Mike?”

“Um. Where should I sleep tonight?”

“Oh, no worries! We’re docking briefly at Morro Bay. Usually we spend the night at sea, but Captain has some business to do on shore. That means we get a hot shower and a comfy bed, especially for me.” Micky made a sour face at the thought of his creaky cot.

“Alright.” Michael didn’t want to ask about dinner. He didn’t want to have a repeat of this afternoon. To his chagrin, his stomach growled making his decision null and void.

“Hungry? Me too. Just waiting a bit longer till we get to shore.” Micky looked him up and down. “Although you can have whatever’s the galley special. If you want.”

Michael’s expression twisted in disgust.

“Yeah. Good choice. It’s not half bad, though, if you close your eyes.”

The ship had about an hour until it reached Morro Bay. Micky and Michael sat under the stars. Michael had never seen so many twinkling lights in the night sky. The city lights drowned them out, so he would escape to the beach to see more. Sitting on the cold deck, the familiar sight of stars was comforting after a long confusing day. There wasn’t a breeze to push the sails, the ship drifted with the movement of the sea, so there was nothing blocking Michael’s view of the sky. He looked over at Micky; he was perched on the railing.

Michael didn’t think Micky really wanted to leave. It was clear enough to him that Micky loved the sea. He claimed San Francisco was his last stop, but with the way he talked about the ocean like it was family, the way he would stare out into the horizon deep in thought, the way he could charm the other sailors with jokes and stories but also take control when needed, Micky belonged at a boat out at sea where he could feel free.

Then it hit him.

The name.

Dolenz.


	4. Chapter 4

Back in high school, Michael was a student whose grades were suffering terribly. Not because he wasn’t smart, but because he didn’t care to sit and learn about useless topics. He would rather write: some stories but poems mainly. As a pass or fail, his English teacher assigned him a research paper. Any topic and as long as he wanted. The only parameter was the due date, which was the end of the semester.

Michael immediately rushed to the library. He was interested in pirates and the swashbucklers of the seven seas. They always had intriguing tales to learn about. He didn’t know about any recent pirate activity in the L.A.. area, having just moved there in the past year, but the newspaper archives might have some stories.

He dug through stacks of dusty newspapers. For hours on end he searched, until he found a lucky paper dated March 07,1948. The headline was **Local Seafaring Family Murdered!**

Further reading led him down a path of similar murders. At the time, they were unsolved. The single clue tying the cases together was the people were sailors, usually alone. However, the newest and final murder was a couple whose little boy went missing and was presumed dead after his parents were found in their unlucky state.

Michael wrote the paper, ten pages in all, and received an A in the class, an outlier among his D’s and F’s. The main highlight of the paper was about the family. The father of the family was the proud owner of a large sailing ship, designed to look like the ones pirates sailed in the past. Michael didn’t remember the name of the ship, it was named after the wife, but he did remember the family name: Dolenz.

There was no way that Micky, who was walking with him onto shore, was the same little boy in the article. He couldn’t be! The hat was probably left on the ship and scooped into his possession. The coincidence was too...supernatural.

Michael was no longer wearing said hat. Micky retrieved his wool hat from his closet room before they docked. He claimed Michael could wear it since he was technically a part of the crew now and didn’t have to worry about being thrown overboard as a stowaway.

Micky left his side and was currently skipping through the minimal crowd on the docks. He would check over his shoulder at times to ensure Michael was still following him. Each time Michael would raise his eyebrows with a small nod in acknowledgement.

The docks were lit with warm yellow lights. Wooden shacks dotted the coastline offering food, fuel for the more modern boats, and tacky souvenirs. A single spotless hotel offered rooms overlooking the beautiful shore and the famous Morro Rock. The sound of waves lapping under the wooden planks was covered by the sound of boots and joyous voices.

Michael caught a whiff of something foul. He plugged his nose and kept walking. He didn’t realize the docks stank as much as they did. Micky pointed out Morro Rock when they first docked, but all that was there was a large silhouette of nothingness. Guess he’d have to wait to see it in the morning.

“Mike c’mon! I’m starving man!” Micky waited not so patiently under a shabby lamppost.

“He’s a smart guy, I’d listen to him,” a familiar voice said.

Michael jumped a mile high. “Christ!” It was Ratrunner.

“You should hurry ‘fore the food closes. I know I am. Nothing better than fresh fish and a beer to follow.” And with that he strode off to a nearby vendor.

Michael was shocked. He hardly looked old enough to enter a high school campus.

Micky nudged him. “Don’t worry. He’s only a few months underage.”

“Okay.” He didn’t know what else to say.

Micky followed in Ratrunner’s direction. “So you like clam chowder? Then we could get some sleep? Separate rooms if ya want, I’ve got enough in my stash to cover. Most of the guys room together in pairs but I didn’t know if you wanted to since we’ve only just met and-”

Michael cut him off. “It’s fine. I don’t want you wasting your money on me.”

“Alright cool. Chowder or chips?”

They were the last waiting in line at Marty’s Marvelous Mermaids. The menu was a chalk board with half of the items crossed out due to unavailability.

“Um. Fish and chips.” Michael felt weird saying it. In fact, he felt weird ever since he read the name on the cap. Coincidences didn’t just happen to him. If they did, a coincidence would have stopped the reason his family left Texas for California.

“That’ll be two dollars mop head.” A young man with dirty blond hair stood at the cash box. 

Micky fished a small drawstring bag out of his pocket and counted coins. “Who you calling mop head?” he scowled.

Looking up, the scowl changed into his signature sunshine smile. He handed the coins over. “Been a while, Peter! How’s everyone?”

“Great man! Got a girl and everything.” Peter counted the coins and hollered back their order.

“Ooh look at you. And here I thought you were a man incapable of love.” Micky said.

“Speak for yourself. Maybe I got you pegged wrong. Who’s this?” 

Michael’s mouth went dry.

Micky replied for him. “This is Mike. Just a friend.” He leaned close to Peter and stage whispered, “Though he’s a bit of a stowaway so shhh.”

Peter laughed. “Don’t let the Captain catch ya. You’d be swimming with the mermaids.”

Michael warmed up to that comment. “Hey, that’s what I said.”

A disposable bowl and a tray were handed to Peter. “Here you go gentlemen. Enjoy your five star service only found at Marty’s Marvelous Mermaids.” The boys took their food and Peter bowed. Back to his serious tone he said, “Care if I barge in on your date? We’re closing for the night anyways.”

Micky looked to Michael for approval. He shrugged in response.

“Sure, we’ve got some catching up to do.” Micky said.


	5. Chapter 5

“And then, he asked him if he wanted a tour guide of the bay,” Micky, finishing his story, died from laughter.

“To my defense, I didn’t know he was THE Captain.” Peter retorted.

The three were sitting at a rickety picnic table. A small lantern was placed in the center, courtesy of Peter.

Michael took a bite of his fish. “So, you’ve met this guy before?”

Peter nodded. “If you could call him a guy. I’m not sure if he’s even human.”

“What do you mean?”

Peter looked around and leaned over the table towards Michael. “There’s a rumor he’s a mass murderer, but nobody has the proof to convict him.”

Micky, who was sitting next to Peter, smacked him on the arm. “Please. That’s just a mother’s tale meant to scare little kids from stowing away to sea.”

“Still, you heard about that string of sailors who never made it back to their ships. Most of them happened here, so be careful you two,” Peter said.

Micky shook his head. “You say that every time.”

“And every time I’ve been right,” he snapped.

Michael was trying hard to connect the dots. He waited to see if they would reveal anything else.

Micky went back to eating his chowder. He poured the last of the crackers in his bowl and stirred them around. He didn’t say anything for a while. Michael took that as a sign to forget about the topic.

“How’d you end up here, Mike?” Peter asked.

Michael didn’t know what to tell him. The truth would be interesting for them, but a small lie would be easier.

“Just a traveler. Rolling with the flow, y’know?”

“Cool. Where from?”

This guy was pushy. Michael corrected himself, this guy was simply curious.

“Texas.” After all it was his first home.

Micky perked up at his answer. “Say, Mike, you never told me you were from Texas.”

“You never asked.”

“That explains the seasickness then. No wonder you’ve never been on a ship.”

Peter let out a small giggle. “Man you’re something else for stowing away when you’ve never been at sea. I’ll bet the crew had good fishing.”

Michael made a disgusted face. Peter and Micky laughed and the tension was broken.

Ratrunner seemingly appeared from nowhere and slid in next to Michael, wrapping his arm around him. His bun had fallen and now his hair was down to his shoulders.

“What’re we talking about here fellas?” He grinned a charming smile.

Micky filled him in about their conversation, including the tale of Peter and his misfortune of meeting the Captain. Michael didn’t want to be rude, so he awkwardly sat with Ratrunner’s arm around his shoulders until Ratrunner made a large gesture and he ducked away.

Michael watched as the two sailors informed Peter of their adventures at sea. In turn, Peter told them all about the strange people he had met working the food shack and how he met his lovely girl Valleri, which was a confusing yet hilarious string of events. The conversation bounced naturally between them as if they hadn’t been separated by miles of ocean and time. The three fit together so perfectly. He let out a small sigh.

“Right, Crooktooth?” Ratrunner asked. The attention was on Michael.

Michael looked at Micky for context. He smiled and nodded.

“Um. Yeah. Right.”

The conversation flowed on without him again. After tuning out once more, Michael took his tray and tossed it in a nearby trash can.

He paused at the trash can and took a deep breath. He took this alone time as a chance to finally take in where he was. Closing his eyes, he focused on the sounds of the docks. The song of the sea. The chatter from the sailors. The soft flapping of sails in the wind. The footsteps approaching him.

Footsteps.

His eyes snapped open as his scream was muffled by a hand over his mouth and nose. He squirmed to get out of the assailant’s grasp but it was useless. His last glimpse of the docks was of Micky and his friends in laughter.

When Michael awoke, his eyes struggled to adjust to the dark room. It stank of fish and decay. Small specks of light came from one wall. A window must have been covered by something there. Michael stood up and found his hands were bound together with zip ties of all things. Thankfully, he had younger siblings who loved to pretend to play cops and robbers. A box of zip ties left out in the garage mixed with an older brother left to watch over them made the great idea of his siblings binding his hands together and running off to play.

He pulled the zip ties tighter with his teeth and grimaced. It hurt to get out of them five years ago and it was gonna hurt again today.

After a few tries of yanking down hard towards him, he heard a snap and his wrists were free. His watch had gone missing. Oh well, at least he still had his hat.

He scrambled to the specks of light. There were heavy black curtains nailed, not hung, on the wall. He reached out to look through the window when a lock clicked on the door.

“We have a fighter here don’t we?” An all too familiar gruff voice snickered.

Michael turned around. He was face to face with the Captain. Or rather his sword?

“You came a bit too close to my prey for my liking, boy.” The Captain hit his shin with the hilt of his sword causing Michael to cry out and double over.

“Who are you?” The Captain squinted and breathed hot air into his face. “What do you want with the kid?”

Michael gagged at the smell of his breath. “Nothing. Sir. I’m just a traveler.”

“That’s a real interesting story. Missing a few details though.”

He saw the Captain had left the door ajar. If he could-.

The Captain grabbed his chin. “Look at me when I speak to you!”

Michael nodded.

“The Dolenz kid is mine. I don’t know why you want Curly, but you’re not getting him.”

That was all the confirmation he needed. He had to get Micky out of the Captains grasp.

“Now, I tend to overshare. ‘Fraid you can’t leave this room without a ghost pass. Then you can travel with me on my wall!” The Captain wheezed and coughed. No, he was laughing.

Michael made a mental note that he was right about the laughter.

“Guess my ghost pass will have to wait,” he sneered. Michael scrambled out under the Captain’s legs and bolted through the door.

He found himself in a pristine hallway with orange patterned carpets. Noticing a sign that read “STAIRS”, he fled that direction in hopes of finding Micky.


End file.
